


Mating Habits

by CerysKitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bestiality but kind of really not, Dubious Morality, M/M, References to vore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerysKitty/pseuds/CerysKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunstreaker's feeling frustrated, and Bob decides it's finally time for him to help out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from Tumblr
> 
> *flies into the sun*

Sunstreaker writhed on the berth in his dim quarters, distantly aware that Bob was staring from his bed on the floor, but paid no mind having gotten used to it ages ago.

It had been an absolutely  _terrible_  cycle, with mechs seemingly going out of their way to frag him off. Unwilling to face Magnus and his rulebook at the moment, he’d retired to his quarters in the hopes that rather than punch some mech through a wall, he could spend some alone time burning through the raging charge he’d worked up.

But it seemed it was just going to be one of those orbital cycles where  _nothing_ went right for him.

‘Eurgh!’ Sunstreaker growled in frustration, bringing his servos up to grind his palms into his optics. He’d been at this for what felt like cycles now and it just. Wasn’t. Happening. This charge was going nowhere and rather than soothe him for a bit it was just making him angrier.

_I can’t believe I’m missing Ironhide at a time like this…_

He huffed to himself, and sent the command for the lights to turn off completely; if he couldn’t get off then he might as well get some rest. He’d let his spike depressurise by itself, who knows maybe he’d get lucky and overload in his sleep or something.

‘G’night Bob’ he mumbled, shutting off his optics and settling down for recharge.

‘Prrrrrrrrrrrr.’ The good night chirr from Bob was normal and expected. The sound coming from between his pedes, vibrations running up his leg struts was definitely not.

Bringing the lights back up low, Sunstreaker sat up on his elbows to see if his pet was alright.

But  _that_ , was definitely  _not_  his pet.

Battle protocols whirred to life at the sight of the strange mech at the foot of his bed, and he scrambled back, ready to fight if he needed to.

Except… Looking at the stranger with fully online optics he didn’t look so strange at all.

The same four wide optics stared up at him, waiting for him to say something. The helm was more or less the same, save that the face-guard had shifted and he could glimpse a mouth on a dark face. What he could see of his body was similar too, with subtle shifts of plating and armour which seemed to allow the other mech to walk upright.

And he was definitely looking at a mech here.

_Oh primus what’s the frag’s going on-_

‘Prrrrr.’ Sunstreaker could only stare as this mech, who could only be Bob, crawled up onto the berth with him. And his ‘pet’ certainly had no business being able to move that gracefully, slinking slowly up whilst keeping close to the berth, obviously unsure of himself.

‘Bob what the frag’s going on? What ar-argh!’ His questioning was cut off, as Bob slid up between his legs and hesitantly nuzzled at his barely-pressurised spike. He paused, glancing up at Sunstreaker, seemingly waiting to be admonished, though apparently he took his master’s stunned silence as approval and leaned back down to chirr and run his face over the array in front of him.

This… Had to be some sort of screwed up recharge flux. He was hoping for an erotic dream and then he got this, and this entire situation was just  _so_  messed up, and he was  _definitely_  going to the pit…

A soft vibration pulled Sunstreaker from his thoughts, and found himself staring at the way Bob’s antenna lazily flicked back and forth, an action he vaguely recalled seeing when his pet had stolen and eaten an entire box of Drift’s energon goodies. The constant purring and nuzzling was seriously starting to get his charge back up, whilst the simple adoration and worshipping of his spike felt completely foreign to him.

He was going to the pit, and primus it felt so  _good_.

He continued to gaze in disbelief at the top of the helm bobbing at his groin. Bob continued to rub his face against his rapidly stiffening spike, and it felt as though the face-guard had shifted to the sides a little more, allowing Bob to brush his lips along the prominent ridges and flared head. And primus what was- are those mandibles clicking against his spike? Sunstreaker groaned at the thought of what they could do to hi-NO.

‘No!’ He sat up abruptly and pushed at Bob’s head. ‘Bad boy no this isn’t- this isn’t right get off!’ At the dreaded ‘bad boy’ Bob instantly curled back into himself with a whine and moved to get off the berth onto the floor. He was stopped about halfway by Sunstreaker tugging at his collar, though when he realised what he was grabbing he quickly shifted and grabbed at Bob’s upper arm instead.

‘Bob, just… just sit here a sec. This- can you even understand me? Do you even know what you’re trying to do?’ He sat hunched over, helm in his servo while he tried to reason and figure this out for himself. He’d captured and tamed Bob under the assumption that he was as non-sentient as the rest of the mindless swarm; he’d known he was smarter than the average failed-insecticon sure, but to actually be capable of having an alt-mode, even as uncomplicated as it was… Obviously Bob was much closer to a successful experiment than any of the others had been. Fraggit how did he get into this sort of slag?

‘Bob.’ He turned to the other mech who was practically cowering next to him, and tried to gently pull his face up to look him in the optic. ‘Bob. I need you to listen to me okay? Do you understand, what I’m saying?’ He spoke slowly and clearly, but the confused tilt of Bob’s head said it all for him. He might have been a fully-functioning mech once in his lifespan, but it seemed a lot got corrupted with the Decepticons’ experiments.

Unless… If Bob’s frame was an altered standard one, there could be hardline ports in there somewhere? It was the only option he could think of at the moment, aside from dragging Ratchet or Perceptor off-duty and this was a situation he  _really_  didn’t want anyone else seeing.

He ran his servo along Bob’s helm, hoping the familiar petting would cheer him up a little; it seemed to work, if the perking of the antenna were anything to go by. Still gently stroking, he dropped his hand to the back of Bob’s neck, hoping that underneath the loose collar he’d find the standard hardline port.

He noticed Bob’s optics dim and he purred lowly when he brushed a small area of plating right beneath his helm. Hoping for the best, he pressed slightly harder and hummed in relief when it slid open automatically, though not without catching slightly from general lack of care and upkeep.

‘Ssh it’s fine, you’re a very good boy okay? Now let me just…’ He trailed off as he found Bob’s hardline cable tightly spooled next to his port. Tugging it out of it’s place, he held onto the other mech tighter when he jumped at his touch; Bob had almost certainly never even known this existed, at least not in this lifetime, so the touch on such a sensitive place was likely a shock.

And if he’d never done this before then this was gong to be… Intense to say the least.

Sunstreaker took Bob’s cord and reached around to the back of his own helm and smoothly released his own; he figured if they both plugged in at the same time, at least he’d be able to try and calm the other down if he panicked for any reason. He moved both cables into positions, and with the servo holding the end of his own he stroked around Bob’s port in an attempt at comfort, before jacking them both in at the same time.

Bob stiffened and clutched at his legs before freezing up, awareness slipping inwards.

Sunstreaker on the other hand, could barely keep himself from collapsing at the sudden wave of pure  _feeling_  coming across the line. He could sense Bob’s slight arousal, as well as his  trepidation at this new connection, but it was all overwhelmed by the absolute need to please his  _master/leader/alpha_.

He clutched blindly at Bob’s arm as he practically drowned in the feelings of adoration and the desire to please. This little mech was willing to just about _anything_  for him, and slag if that didn’t just rev him up completely for the third time that night.

Distantly, he was aware that he must have been sending his arousal and lust through to Bob, though he didn’t realise until he was jolted back to the real world by a whimpering insecticon clutching at him and crawling into his lap. He could feel the heat of the other’s panel as he ground down on Sunstreaker’s thigh, chittering constantly and trying to bury himself under the larger mech’s neck.

Primus if he got this reaction from sending some unfocussed feelings across…

Pulling himself together, Sunstreaker moved his hands, one to stroke at Bob’s waist and the other to pull his head back to look at his face.

‘Hey.’ He sent the greeting along his cable as well. ‘Can you understand me?’ In answer he received a shocked look, then a burst of  _master/please/need._

Well, that was probably the most he was going to get without a medic. And if that was just the lust taking over slightly then who was to know…

‘Is this what you want?’ He began to rub his servo from it’s place at Bob’s waist, down to to the hip where he could more easily reach sensitive wires and joints. The hand at the other’s neck slipped to trace the strange back kibble, eventually landing on the odd yellow vents; they definitely looked sensitive and he was pleased when running a finger inside led to louder whining and more ferocious rutting.

He kept us his ministrations, soaking in the pure, unfiltered arousal coming through the link. He hummed thoughtfully to himself, then decided to try his luck a little. With a questioning pulse, Sunstreaker pushed an image of the two of them. Bob panting in his lap, legs spread wide over his thighs, sliding up and down his master’s thick spike.

It took less than an astrosecond for Bob to absorb the implications of the image and send a heavy throb of  _please/need/PLEASE_ and then Sunstreaker had never heard a mech wail quite so deliciously in his life. The click was audible as Bob’s panel shot open, and he clutched around at Sunstreaker’s back, smaller secondary arms scrabbling to find anything to cling on to. He once again buried his head under his master’s, clicking and chirring wildly, his mandibles plucking at soft throat cables. 

Sunstreaker kept up his constant stroking, digits flicking into seams and pulling lightly at wires, all to the effort of building up Bob’s charge, not that he seemed to need the help. His own spike was throbbing, the charge in his systems starting to get painful from being brought up and down all night, and he really, _really_  wanted to sink into and lose himself in the trembling mech on his lap.

Apparently he’d broadcasted that clearly as well, because no sooner had the thought crossed  his mind had Bob started gyrating needily against him. He clearly had no idea what to do, but the effort was just… Adorable, was really the only word which came to mind, so Sunstreaker helped position themselves slightly better, and started to rut back, dragging his spike along the entrance to Bob’s valve.

He reached a servo around underneath Bob’s ‘abdomen’ to fondle and play with his aft, groping and stroking at the hot metal in his palm. On a downwards rut, he carefully slipped a single digit inside Bob’s valve and started to stroke the sensitive nodes within, causing yet another wail and full-body shudder from the mech hiding under his chin.

Bob didn’t seem able to do much to reciprocate other than grasp and rub along the larger mech’s body, so it fell to Sunstreaker to prepare his valve if he wanted to frag the little mech.

Well it wasn’t exactly a hardship.

Bob’s valve was tight and slick around his digit, every little stroke or touch enough to elicit the hottest little whines and gasps. Gradually he worked a second digit in and began to scissor and stretch the valve lining. Lubricant dripped and smeared across both their thighs and around their arrays, aided by the ministrations of his servo and spike. When he could easily slip a third digit in he figured Bob was about ready.

He adjusted their position slightly to nudge the head off his spike at Bob’s entrance; guiding it in with one servo, he petted at Bob’s helm and neck with the other, and murmured encouraging praise and ‘good boys’ into the mech’s audio. His optics dimmed as he focused on the tight heat enveloping him as he inched inside, as well as the feelings of  _pain/please/bliss_  shooting down the link cable.

When he finally managed to seat himself fully inside, he forced himself to pause and let the mech in his lap adjust; Bob was quiet but still trembling, mandibles and lips ghosting over neck cables while he clung to Sunstreaker. Stroking his helm and lower back, Sunstreaker slowly began to rock, making sure to drag his spike over every node he could. The initial pain coming down the line was quickly replaced with a searing pleasure, and Sunstreaker decided to up the tempo a little, thrusting as much as the slightly awkward position would let him.

As he started to up the pace, the mech in his arms started to pant and moan in time with his thrusts, and Sunstreaker found himself with the desire to watch that perfect little face in pleasure. He moved his head down to start nuzzling at Bob’s audio, encouraging him to unbury himself and reciprocate a little more; he was successful to an extent, though when he started to kiss and nip along the other jawline the little mech froze up again with another burst of pleasure down the hardline.

_So sensitive… I wonder…_

Keeping his thoughts from straying to Bob, Sunstreaker eyed up the twitching antenna in front of him. On a harder thrust he quickly moved to encase the end of the antenna in his mouth, licking and sucking lightly as he drew it in further. The resulting static-laced wail was just  _delicious_.

The rippling in the valve, and full-body spasms which indicated an overload was slightly more surprising.

‘Hmmm, such a  _good boy_. Hold out for me a little longer though yeah?’ He spoke around the antenna in his mouth, before sucking and drawing off it with a small pop. ‘I didn’t get to see your face, so we’ll just have to do it again won’t we?’ With his murmured words he sent pulses of desire and intent down the line, whilst tipping Bob’s helm back a little to catch a sight of his face.

Bob’s optics were hazy and dim with pleasure, his jaw slack and mouth open with a dribble of oral-lubricant dribbling towards his chin. His mandibles twitched slightly, seeming with a mind of their own, and he lazily purred when he made optic contact with Sunstreaker, acknowledgement and happiness drifting through the uplink.

Well, that was easily one of the best post-overload faces he’d ever seen.

And he found himself wanting to see it again and again…

‘Let’s change this up a bit…’ Sunstreaker carefully pushed Bob backwards so that he was spread on his back, legs splayed to the sides. As soon as the larger mech was close enough, Bob once again clutched at him, though Sunstreaker made an effort to resituate the grabbing servos to sensitive hips and side seams. He pushed an image of Bob stroking his plating along the line, and hummed in pleasure when the insecticon understood the suggestion and tentatively began to explore his plating. 

He pushed back into Bob’s valve, the way slicked by a copious amount of lubricant, satisfied by the low chirr from the mech below him. Leaning on his forearms over the other mech, he began a much faster and harder pace than he was able to sitting up, and instantly had Bob whirring loudly, the digits in his sides grasping again. It didn’t take much to get him close to the edge of his own overload, what with the way Bob’s valve kept squeezing and rippling around his spike, but he was determined to bring the little mech to overload again. He realised that hitting a particular node towards the back of Bob’s valve had the mech squirming and whining erratically, so aimed at it again and again until he could practically feel the charge about to overflow.

Smirking, he forced himself to a sudden stop, much to the dismay of Bob who whined with  _confusion/please/need_. Bending down, he licked up the base to the tip of the quivering antenna, before sucking it into his mouth and thrusting deeply in one move. Two more hard, deep thrusts and Bob was warbling and spasming in overload again. Four more thrusts, with the convulsing valve to help, and he was shouting himself, burying himself as deep as he could while he jerked out his overload.

He onlined his optics, unaware when he’d dimmed them completely, to see that gorgeous, satisfied face blearily looking up at him. He grinned and bent back down to nuzzle at Bob’s jaw, before carefully pulling out and settling to the side. There’d be a lot of clean up but that could wait; he hadn’t felt this relaxed and sated in stellar-cycles and he fully planned to make the most of it. Humming to himself, Sunstreaker dimmed his optics and settled in close to Bob, happy to indulge in a post-overload cuddle for a little while.

Except, he wasn’t feeling the same relaxed state from Bob.

As the post-overload haze cleared and Bob started to come to himself a little more, Sunstreaker could feel the rising anxiety and… acceptance? He pushed himself up to look over the other mech, running a servo over his helm while checking he hadn’t hurt him.

‘Bob? What’s wrong are you-’ He was interrupted by a desolate keen, and the perfectly blissful expression he had been wearing a moment ago was replaced by stark fear. He frantically tried to send calming thoughts and emotions across the cable link, racking his processor to determine what in the pit had gone wrong.

But it clicked the moment Bob shuttered his optics and bared his throat the best he could with the collar.

A long while ago, he and Ironhide had been checking out a new nest of Swarm. It had been simple enough, but when a couple had started acting oddly they hid to check it out; Perceptor always wanted information about peculiar behaviour and this definitely seemed to count.

Imagine their surprise, when a large, bullish Insecticon had rounded on one of the smaller ones on the outskirts of the group. They had expected a fight but instead… Well, instead they’d gotten a short course on Insecticon mating practices. A practice which seemed to end with the smaller ‘con being literally devoured once the big one had used him for his own needs. Perceptor had theorised that it was a way of weeding out the weakest, whilst providing release and, more importantly, a full and nutritious meal.

He and Ironhide had joked that the Swarm were doing their job for them. But the situation was far from jovial now as he had to work out a way to convince this trembling mech, his pet and  _friend_ , that he wasn’t about to eat him alive.

‘Bob! Bob shh it’s okay, it’s fine you’re-you’re such a  _good boy_ , so clever, so _so_  good.’ He petted his helm and stroked up and down quivering antenna. Another servo rubbed down his arm and waist, before coming back up to clutch at one of Bob’s tightly fisted servos, easing the fist open to lace their digits together.

‘Come on, come on let’s just lie down okay? Good boy, come here…’ He guided Bob’s helm to hide under his own, and pulled him closer, never stopping his light petting, and moved to entangle his legs with Bob’s own unique ones.

Sunstreaker made an effort to push as many happy thoughts as possible through to the terrified mech, trying to remember what it was like to feel loved and cherished. He tried to send an image of the two of them curled up in recharge, connecting it with emotions of safety and as much security as he could offer.

He never stopped whispering comforting words into Bob’s audio, and slowly, eventually the pained whines and trembling stopped. It took a little while longer for the feelings of anguish to peter out, until Bob finally drifted into a confused recharge, still clutching desperately at Sunstreaker’s servo.

Once he was sure Bob wouldn’t wake, Sunstreaker allowed himself to initiate recharge. He kept them both plugged in, in case Bob woke in the night, and softly nuzzled the helm tucked under his jaw. He dimmed his optics and sent the command for the lights to turn off.

‘Tomorrow, we’ll go see Ratchet or Perceptor and get this all sorted out…’


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff is kind of explained, and I apologise for the lack of smut ;_;

When Sunstreaker onlined the next cycle, he was sleepily confused by the cute mech clutching loosely at his plating in recharge, though the previous night quickly came flooding back, leaving him reeling. Trying to gather his thoughts together, he stared down at the smaller mech cuddled into his arms, and frowned when he noticed Bob’s faceplates were scrunched up in distress, even though he was still deeply recharging. He felt his spark sink when he realised it was his fault, and he vowed to get it all sorted out, hopefully within the next few cycles, though he knew that was more than a little optimistic. 

He checked his chronometer and the shift-schedule, pleased that it was late enough Ratchet would be on duty, but early enough that no one would yet be in for any appointments. Which just meant that all that was left, was to wake Bob up, somehow get him to transform, and then try and convince Ratchet he wasn’t insane. Right, simple enough.

Sunstreaker was fairly certain waking Bob too roughly would end badly for the both of them, so he pet along the smaller mech’s helm and antenna, increasing the pressure until Bob started to online, looking around blearily before he froze at the sight of his master across from him. Sunstreaker was ready though, instantly shushing the confused whirrs and stroking up the trembling antenna, and making an effort to send feelings of calm and safety down the connection he’d wisely kept plugged in during recharge. 

It seemed to work, and Sunstreaker was able to pull the two of them up to sitting, and he kept up his calming touches while he briefly checked Bob over for any damage he might’ve accidentally inflicted during their interface. He found none, but the sight of the flaking transfluid staining both of their thighs made it obvious a trip to the wash racks would be in order before they could go anyway.

He held back a grunt, not wanting to cause any sort of alarm for Bob, and tried to work out how he was supposed to do this. Luckily, he’d chosen one of the habitation suites furthest away from the rest of the crew, which gave him the added bonus that most mechs used the wash racks up the other end of the hall, and he more or less had the one down this way to himself, save for rare instances when everyone wanted to get clean at the same time. Chances were, they wouldn’t have any company, but Sunstreaker didn’t want to risk Bob being seen in his root-mode while he still hadn’t sorted it out with the higher ups.

So. Transforming then. He remembered how easily Bob had reacted to suggestions last night, when he’d used images to try and convey what he wanted, so he took his chances agin, hoping for the best.

‘Hey, hey Bob. I need you to do something for me okay?’ When he had the other’s attention, he sent a simplistic image of the two of them, then manipulated to show Bob transforming back into his other mode. He wasn’t sure it’d work, but the next instant the mech in his hold was shifting slightly, plating rearranging and before he knew it, his pet was staring up at him morosely from his lap. Well, he could only send prayers of thanks to whatever gods were out there, that their cables hadn’t been sliced off in any of the transformation sequence, because  _that_  would have  _seriously_  put an downer on his orn.

But still, minor spark arrest aside, that was a lot easier than he’d expected it to be. He sent a final pulse of calm down the line, before carefully disconnecting them, trying not to wince at the low whine Bob gave, and instead pushing him to the floor so they could make their way out. He felt a bit of an idiot poking his head out of his own door to look both ways down the corridor, but ignored it in favour of calling Bob, and almost-but-not-quite running to the wash racks down the hall. Another quick look around, and the coast was clear, though he didn’t stop worrying until he’d ushered Bob into one of the private racks around the corner, slumping in relief when he closed the door. A sharp pain shot though him, absently reminded of long-gone times spent pranking with his brother, but now wasn’t the time to be dwelling on  _that_.

At his feet, Bob looked decidedly unhappy that he had to be in here, after all ‘bath times’ weren’t exactly his favourite thing n the world, but he uncharacteristically looked like he wouldn’t be putting up a fuss this time round, much to Sunstreaker’s relief. He made a quick job of it, hitting on the solvent and washing himself down quickly, before kneeling and rubbing the stains off Bob, and then herding him over to the dryer. It was perhaps the quickest wash in his life, and while he wasn’t best pleased himself, Bob seemed to have perked up slightly now that it was over.

Against all expectations, the rest of the trip to medbay went smoothly as well, with the only real hindrance being Ultra Magnus, who nearly glitched because Bob wasn’t on a lead, but didn’t push it when he explained Bob had eaten the old one, and he was off to get a new on from Hoist. There’d also been a small wait when Tailgate had wandered past with a surly Cyclonus, and both taller mechs had pointedly ignored each other while Tailgate stopped to scratch behind one of Bob’s antenna.

Slipping into medbay also wasn’t a problem, though convincing Ratchet to take them into his office for a ‘private chat’ was a little more difficult.

‘Tell me straight what’s the matter with you, and then I’ll decide if you need a private room.’ He gestured widely to the mechs lined up on berths, all of them deep in stasis. ‘It’s not like any of these will be shouting your secrets out to the ship.’ Ratchet had never been the most cheerful of mechs, though apparently it had gotten worse since Sunstreaker last saw him on Earth. Huffing through his vents, he stepped closer, beckoning Ratchet to come near so he didn’t have to yell.

‘It’s Bob-‘

‘I’m a medic, not a vet-‘

‘I know! But he’s not like we thought he was y’know?’ The impatient look suggested he didn’t know at all what Sunstreaker was going on about. ‘Last night, he changed into a mech. As in, actually transformed and everything.’ He’d been expecting the worst, but Ratchet jerking back to laugh incredulously at him still caused him to huff in annoyance.

‘Were you overcharged last night? Primus Sunny-‘

‘Look, I’ll show you, just take us into a damn private room!’ Ratchet shook his head, but led them to one anyway, and once the door was firmly shut he knelt down to stroke Bob’s helm.

‘Right, just like last night okay?’ A confused whine, and Sunstreaker realised he’d have to plug in again, which is front of Ratchet was an embarrassment he tried very hard to ignore. He also ignored the confused scoff from the medic, focusing instead on sending another image to Bob, of him changing back to root mode, and he grinned when his command was followed.

‘Good boy!’ Another helm stroke and praise sent down the line had the mech chirring almost happily, and he looked over to Ratchet, waiting for the medic to comment.

‘Primus kid, how do you get into this sort of slag… Get on the berth, I’ll go get a scanner.’ He was careful when he opened the door that no one would be able to peek in, and whilst he was gone Sunstreaker managed to manoeuvre both himself and Bob to sitting on the berth. By the time Ratchet had returned, Bob had once more burrowed under Sunstreaker’s neck and Sunstreaker merely rubbed the back of his neck while Ratchet ran the scanner over him.

‘He’s in pretty good shape, all things considered. Busted vocaliser, struts in his legs are too twisted for him to walk upright, but everything else is where it should be. It looks like he’s got an extra tank to completely digest metals and other solids, and there’s a couple of other things I’m not sure about.’ He glanced up to look at Sunstreaker. ‘I’m going to need to check his processor to see what else got fragged up. Honestly, Perceptor is probably going to be more use to you than I am here. I mean, he was obviously a mech  _once_. But with the experiments and everything, it’s likely he’s just a shell now, running mostly on instinct.’

‘No, he’s smart! I send suggestions down the link-cable and he knows exactly what to do. You’ve seen how well trained he is, he must have some processing power in there…’ He trailed off at the sympathetic look Ratchet was shooting him.

‘Yeah, he’s smart. For an  _insecticon_. Compared to the average mech, he’s probably got the mental capabilities of a calculator!’ Ratchet’s voice was getting louder, and Sunstreaker shushed Bob when he flinched.

‘Can you just, check him out? I don’t want to be keeping some mech as a pet y’know?’

‘Sure, but I’m comm’ing Percy to come check this out too; he knows more than the rest of us about insecticons anyway, and despite reformatting himself he’s still one of the best on the ship at coding and processors.’ He instructed Sunstreaker to lay Bob down. ‘At least you’re keeping it interesting for me.’

It took some coaxing, and in the end Sunstreaker had to lay down with him, but eventually he managed to get Bob flat on the berth. The insecticon was trembling again, gaze darting around the room but never landing on any one thing, and when Sunstreaker lay his arm over him to try and offer comfort, it was grabbed and held onto for dear life. Pulses of  _safety/calm/praise_  helped a little in calming him down, but it was a relief when Ratchet offered to give him a jab of some drug to help mellow him out; Sunstreaker felt horrible for thinking it, but the doped out expression on his face was really quite adorable, and reminded him a lot of the dazed look he wore post-overload.

‘Right, I’m gonna plug in the reader.’ Bob was too out of it to notice when he did. ‘How did you find this out anyway?’

_Slag._

‘Uh, he just sort of… Changed last night? Dunno why…’

‘Mmmhmm…’ It was obvious Ratchet wasn’t really listening to him, concentrating too much on the data scrolling down the screen. ‘I think… Wait a sec.’ He shot an incredulous glance over to Sunstreaker, optics quickly roaming his frame. ‘Sunstreaker, there’s a lot of unusual readings here, but there’s definitely one thing which sticks out as something I’ve seen before.’ The dark voice didn’t bode well for the other mech, and he hastened to deign ignorance.

‘Why, what’ve you got?’ He nearly flinched away when Ratchet pulled the screen round hard enough that it jerked the bed.

‘This line, indicates several very minor connections have fritzed out. Self repair will sort them out in about a cycle or so, and it’s nothing major.’ The stern look on Ratchet’s face had Sunstreaker wishing he wasn’t lying prone on a berth, and was able to get up and fight. ‘This sort of minor damage is  _clearly_ indicative of a recent overload.’

Frag it all to the pit.

‘Uh-‘

‘Sunstreaker, did you interface with this mech?! Wait, he’s not even confirmed a mech yet, he’s-’ He cut off, probably at the self-hatred Sunstreaker knew was plastered all over his face. ‘Sunny… What on earth possessed you to interface with him, he’s your pet for frag’s sake.’ His voice was softer, but no less judgmental, and Sunstreaker suddenly felt that he was vorns younger, getting the riot act read to him by the new medic when he and ‘Sides had damaged themselves ‘play fighting’.

‘I, I don’t… He was willing, and I mean, he started it!’ A dark look stopped that train of thought instantly.

‘He’s barely capable of ‘thinking’ as it is, running on instinct and urges. That’s not consent Sunstreaker!’

‘I…’ He looked to the smaller mech in his arms, Bob chirring sluggishly when his bleary optics registered Sunstreaker’s. He wasn’t going to admit that he was too horny, too  _lonely_  to turn down a warm body, even if that body was of his pet, but frag if he didn’t suddenly feel ten times more terrible.

The awkward silence was interrupted by a knock to the door, and then Perceptor walking in, calmly ignoring the unpleasant atmosphere to draw up alongside Ratchet, wordlessly look over the data on the screen. He didn’t even spare the other mechs more than a cursory glance and nod, and Sunstreaker found himself startled at the emotionless display, wondering just what sort of kinky slag he got up to in order to keep Drift following him around like a lovesick mechling.

‘There are several loose connections, especially in the-’ he glanced bak at Sunstreaker, making a small noise before continuing on, obviously becoming used to explaining things to those who didn’t understand. ‘In the back of the processor, long-term memory is stored, though the files and connections around here are so damaged it’s honestly surprising he even remembers you. Likewise the centre for complex thought is corrupted, though his short term memory is fine, as is the core which deals with sensory memory.’ Ratchet nodded in agreement, obviously having noticed this but wanting a second opinion. Perceptor didn’t comment on the minor frizzed connections.

‘Is it, I mean can you fix it?’ He hoped he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt, though Bob whined a little, obviously feeling his worries over the connection.

‘It will be easy enough to fix and replace the problems areas; we rebuilt Rung’s processor in it’s entirety, so this will pose no problem.’ Perceptor looked away from the screen to pull out his own datapad, making notes as he continued to talk. ‘However, though he will have a working processor, it will not mean he will have all of the expected knowledge. You will have to teach him the basics, until we are sure that directly downloading information won’t be a problem.’

‘You’ve also got the problem that he was part of a swarm, and it’s all he’s going to know until you can teach him about society and the rest.’ At least Ratchet looked at him as he spoke. ‘It might take vorns to get anywhere, if he’s even capable of it anyway; the ‘cons fragged him up big time, perhaps to the point where it’d be better he stay a-‘

‘Don’t! If you can undo all the damage, then I don’t care if I have to teach him each individual glyph and social situation out there or whatever he needs, I’ll do it. But, he deserves a chance…’ Sunstreaker made a point of not looking up, unable to face whatever look they were giving him, instead he clutched to the drowsy mech in his arms and prayed to any gods that might listen for this all to work.

‘…Well, I can fix his frame easy enough, then Perceptor and I can both work on his processor. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of cycles.’ He motioned for Sunstreaker to get up, and then glared in annoyance when he didn’t move. ‘I’ll need to put him into stasis, so while I work on the frame repair I’d suggest you talk to Percy and find out everything you can about the insecticons.’

‘Can y-‘

‘I’ll comm you before I wake him up, now shoo.’ He shook his head and waited for Sunstreaker to disconnect himself from Bob, tutting at the stroke to his helm before initiating stasis via the console. Before Sunstreaker could follow Perceptor out he shouted back to him. ‘Compassion’s not a bad look on you Sunstreaker. I’ll comma you soon.’ Sunstreaker didn’t even have time to be shocked, because Perceptor was pulling him out to the bay towards his own lab.

‘We will be meeting Drift in my office; he and I spent a large amount of time together eradicating the swarm, and together know more about the insecticons that anyone.’ He didn’t seem offended at the unhappy grunt Sunstreaker offered him, just kept up his brisk pace down the hall.

When they finally go to his office, Drift was lounging against Perceptor’s work station, and it was almost sickening how much the scientist-come-sniper relaxed at the sight of his lover, though Sunstreaker did his utmost to ignore it, sitting down on a stool and waiting for the other’s to get on with it. Perceptor briefly explained the situation to Drift, who looked over at Sunstreaker with glee, though thankfully wasn’t able to start spouting nonsense before Perceptor spoke back up again.

‘I will need you to explain exactly what was happening when Bob first transformed into his root-mode, so that I may judge whether the change was instinctual or forced.’ He grumbled lowly. ‘Ratchet was annoyingly short when I asked over our private communication.’

No, this couldn’t be happening. Not again.

‘I…’ His gaze darted between the other’s expectant faces. Slag, but if this was crucial… ‘I was, uh. I was self-servicing.’ He pointedly ignored the shocked looks. ‘I was self-servicing, and then the next thing I knew there was this mech on my bed mouthing at my spike.’ The hushed silence was almost physically painful, though it was Drift who piped up next.

‘Did you interface with him?’

‘Yeah-BUT! But I tried, I tried to ask? We connected over hardline, and when I sent uh, images, he seemed to understand. And earlier, when I sent an image of him transforming back into alt-mode, he understood that, and then again into root in medbay.’ He tried desperately to explain his actions, though the two mechs across from him still didn’t look particularly impressed. Thankfully however, neither seemed to dwell on his dubious actions.

‘Judging by the data I saw earlier, as well as the actions you’ve described, I will assume that Bob is at least self aware enough to recognise himself in your images, and can initiate his transformation sequence at will. This could bode well, as with an understanding of language it would likely be possible to teach him and give him a better functioning.’ He made some notes on his datapad, Drift looking over his shoulder though pouting when he obviously didn’t understand a word of it.

‘So, he’s gonna get better?’ He was pleased at the nod, though couldn’t help but wonder after another issue he was having. ‘Um… When we uh… When we _finished_ , he started-he was scared, because I think he thought I was going to eat him? Why would, why would he… Do it if he thought…’ His optics dropped to the floor, confusion and worry eating away at him. Honestly, he wasn’t sure eh was going to like the answer, but he needed to know what was going on.

‘Instinct, would the the main factor in this. He obviously felt that you were in need, and he put the needs of his alpha above his own, and I would assume coding or other instincts would make him strive to take as much pleasure out of the coupling as possible, as in ‘normal’ situations it would be his last.

If you remember the scenario you and Ironhide witnessed, a weak mech was devoured after a coupling. After that, we also received reports of similar situations, albeit with one distinct difference. If an insecticon was dominated where others could see, where the claim was made public to the group leader, it was more often than not accepted, the two then becoming a mated pair. If the mech was dominated out of sight of the others, it was then that he’d be consumed, the smaller weaker mech of no interest or use to the group as a whole.’

Sunstreaker had no words, and he just stared at Perceptor like he’s grown an extra helm.

‘So you’re saying…’

‘That because you, presumably, dominated Bob away from the rest of the group, he had no other reason than to believe you deemed him weak and useless, and were therefore going to consume him once you had climaxed.’ 

‘Which means, if you want to keep this going you’re going to have to uh, interface with him in public.’ Drift had absolutely no reason to be sounding as cheerful as he did. ‘It’d probably be best if Rodimus was there too, what with him being the leader of our so called herd. Perhaps me and Ultra Magnus as well?’ Sunstreaker nearly glitched when Perceptor nodded along in agreement.

‘At the moment Bob is certainly confused and hurting, his loyalty and instincts surrounding you will be directly combating everything he’s ever know. Honestly, at this point everything is merely hypothetical, and we won’t be able to know for sure until we get Bob talking and able to explain his thoughts and feelings.’ He paused, and waited for Sunstreaker to look at him before he continued. ‘Once we’ve properly confirmed sentience, and he’s functioning properly, you need to decided where you’ll be going with this, whether to take him as a mate or reject him. As distressing as it is, Bob almost certainly won’t choose for himself, as he is too used to being the ‘gamma’ of a herd; as harsh as it may sound, he is even below you in terms of social dynamics, and you’re practically an outcast. I would recommend you make an effort to socialise more, raise the standing of the pair of you within the group, so that he may feel more comfortable approaching the others.’

That was a lot of information to digest, though he mindlessly nodded along at Perceptor’s suggestions, and tried to think about how he could socialise, when most of the ship still regarded him as a traitor. It took him a moment to realise that they’d reached the end of the conversation, and he was still feeling a little light headed when he stood and was shown to the door, though by the time he reached his quarters he was halfway through some fairly solid plans to make this all work out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was two cycles until Ratchet finally sent him a message to ‘get your aft down here now’, and Sunstreaker rushed to get there, for once thankful that being a fighter left him with very few other responsibilities. He arrived n record time, much to Ratchet’s obvious amusement, and was shown to the same private room, where Bob was laying out flat on the berth, systems almost silent in stasis.

‘Stand over there, and be ready in case something unexpected happens.’ For once he did as told, moving to stand next to Bob’s helm. The medic jabbed at a few buttons on the console next to the berth, and turned to Sunstreaker while they waited for Bob to wake up. ‘Currently, the only mechs who know are me, First Aid and Ambulon, as well as Perceptor, and so I assume Drift. If Drift knows, Rodimus more than likely knows, and if  _he_  knows then in less than a cycle I’m going to be treating Ultra Magnus for a serious processor crash.’ The frown on Sunstreaker’s face just got worse as the list went on, but he wasn’t able to question Ratchet just then, as Bob’s systems started to whirr online.

It took a little while for the insecticon to online fully, slipping fort from stasis into a light recharge in order to lesson the jarring feeling of onlining suddenly, and though he looked confused he was instantly purring at the sight of Sunstreaker, previous agitation seemingly washed away with a good defrag cycle.

‘Hey boy, I mean uh… Hey.’ Bob’s optics brightened in response, his purring kicking up a notch when Sunstreaker rubbed his helm in greeting. It was then that Sunstreaker noticed the heavy collar was gone from the other’s neck, and he looked over to ratchet with gratitude, though the medic just waved him off.

‘His readings look good; ideally we’d keep him in here to monitor his progress, but we’re busy and progress could be a long time in coming, so you’re just going to have to bring him in for a check up twice an orn.’ He unplugged Bob from the monitor, ignoring the small flinch from the mech as he did so. ‘Right, let’s get him upright. If he can walk I can leave you both to it.’

It was a struggle, especially with Bob confused at what was happening, but eventually they managed to get him from lying, to sitting and then onto his pedes. He wobbled, clicked in confusion and clutched desperately at Sunstreaker, though instinct seemed to kick in and after a few mishaps, he was about able to take shaky steps with the larger mech holding him. By the tenth circuit of the small room, he was walking confidently with Sunstreaker holding his servo, and by the twelfth circuit he was bouncing along happily, antenna flicking back and forth while he clicked and whirred gleefully.

‘Right, seems good.’ Throughout it all, Ratchet had been making notes on a datapad, though he put that to the side to seriously address Sunstreaker. ‘Be careful with him, and I’ll message you a date when I next want to see him. I mentioned it earlier, but mechs are going to find out about this pretty soon, so you need to decide what you’re going to tell them.’ Sunstreaker nodded grimly, casting his optics back to Bob, who was entertaining himself by flexing his pedes, watching the way the plating overlapped and moved.

‘Is there, anything special I need to do?’

‘Not that I can think of, but here, flick through this.’ He handed him a datapad, which Sunstreaker briefly read as some sort of teaching guide. ‘Most of what he needs to know he’ll learn by observation or just instinctually, but there are some good tips in there too. Just let it come naturally and don’t rush him, or you’ll just confuse him more.’ As soon as Sunstreaker had put the datapad into his subspace, Ratchet was ushering them through the door. ‘Right, get a move on I’ve got stuff to be getting on with.’ And then they were left standing in the middle of medbay while Ratchet strode off to do whatever it was he was up to.

Bob was looking around in wonder, taking in more of his surroundings than he ever had before, though Sunstreaker was quick to grab his hand and start manoeuvring him towards the doors; he didn’t want to have to force Bob to change into his alt mode, especially when he seemed so curious and excited about everything, but that also didn’t mean he wanted to dawdle and risk running into anyone else. Thankfully, it was the middle of a shift, so everyone was either on duty or hanging out in the bar, and the hallways were deserted. Mostly.

‘Who the frag is that?’ Whirl. Of course, his cycle had been going far too well. He turned stiffly, about to give the mech a piece of his mind when he saw Rung next to him, and decided he didn’t want to have to face another ‘chat’ with him about his anger problems. Instead he just glared and huffed, wanting to get this confrontation with over as quickly as possible.

‘Bob. Turns out he’s a mech, who’d have guessed.’ He turned, about to wave them off when Rung spoke up.

‘I see what Perceptor was talking about. If it’s alright with you, and Bob of course, I would love to speak with him at some point, and help with your efforts to teach him.’ Primus just how many mechs knew about this?

‘Yeah, sure. I’ll let you know.’ He was about to tug Bob to leave when he noticed the interested look on his face. ‘Eugh, fine. Bob, this is Rung, he’s good yes? This is Whirl. He’s bad, don’t talk to him.’

‘Hey!’ Whirl seemed offended, which was the intention, and Sunstreaker chose that moment to start walking away, a hand at the small of Bob’s back to guide him. He assumed Rung calmed or distracted Whirl, because they weren’t bothered by him when they walked off, and luckily the rest of the trip to their quarters was hassle free.

Upon entering the room though, Sunstreaker immediately realised there was a problem: when first moving in, he’d ripped out the second berth, giving it to Bob to shred and nest in, the pile of which was still spread in the corner. Now, perhaps not such a great idea. He debated telling Rodimus, though didn’t feel like incurring the wrath of Ultra Magnus, and he briefly wondered if it’d be too much trouble to change rooms without anyone knowing. He sighed, about to reprogram his berth to a bigger size when he caught sight of Bob slinking away; apparently, returning to their room had brought back some of the bad memories for the small mech, and he was dejectedly trying to curl himself up as small as possible in his nest, huddled against the corner.

‘Oh no, Bob, come here…’ When he didn’t receive any sort of acknowledgement, he shuffled over and sat down next to the nest, one servo rubbing Bob’s back lightly. ‘It’s fine, we’re gonna work though this, and it’ll be fine.’

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, stroking Bob’s plating while he clicked and whirred to himself miserably, but it looked like it was long enough for him to drift of into a ‘power save mode’ as it was known colloquially. He wasn’t entirely sure what had caused him to online again either, though the answer was apparent when he looked down, Bob sprawled halfway out of his nest and across his lap, Sunstreaker’s servo nudged enough that it now lay on the mech’s helm while he dozed in his own light recharge.

Sunstreaker felt himself genuinely smiling at the sight, even more so when he realised Bob was snuffling lightly, vents caught open at an odd angle. Still, as cute as he might be, his back was threatening to seize up at the prolonged position, and he carefully gathered the mech in is arms, setting him on the now double-sized berth and climbing in after. Bob barely woke up, just enough to blearily check where he was and grasp at Sunstreaker, nestling himself into the larger mech’s frame before slipping back offline. It was more than likely that he was sluggish after his surgery, so it’d be best to let him rest, and now that Sunstreaker was comfortable, he found the idea of a nap not so unappealing.

Teaching Bob could start tomorrow, for now though, rest was definitely a good idea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given the range of sizes these robots come in, surely they must be able to make their berths bigger or smaller if they needed to??


End file.
